


The Sheriff and the Gloryhole

by kestra_troi



Series: Threesomes And Trios [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drabble, Facials, Glory Hole, Implied/Referenced Incest, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Peter is a Little Shit, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Noah visits a gloryhole on a day off. He should've done more research into this. He really should have.Part 2 in a series of unconnected vignettes involving threesomes and polyamorous throuples.





	The Sheriff and the Gloryhole

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this scene with this pairing forever and a day. I wrote this in one sitting desperate to get it down somewhere, so all mistakes are my own, and I wrote it in a hurry, so no promises for quality. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy it! Kudos and comments welcome!

He should come back later. Pull up in his cruiser, lights flashing, walk in uniformed and flash his badge to scare the owner and clients, then stroll into that bathroom and arrest the man, whoever he is, that’s been offering his services. Public indecency can be a serious crime. Especially once minors get involved. If they haven’t already.

Loose lips sink ships and Noah knows very well just how loose lipped a man, or anyone else for that matter, can be after achieving a clandestine orgasm. Word spreads and eventually hits the kids at the high school where some bozo or other will decide he’s sixteen and already a man, so he’s going to check out the story see if its true, see if he can pass for eighteen, see if he can trick some dude and get his dick wet.

It’d be wrong, and illegal, to let this thing continue. Whosever in there needs to know how much trouble they could get into. He is the Sheriff after all and word has already reached him and his deputies. Technically, if he doesn’t bust this operation, he’d be complicit. Once you know, you know, particularly if other people can say that you knew. Plausible deniability only works if everyone agrees to it.

He should come back later. Bust it all wide open, make his arrests, and wash his hands of this whole business. His leg won’t stop jiggling. Either he’s turning more and more into his son or his son caught quite a few of his bad habits from his old man and geez that hurts his heart. He tried to be a good dad or at least a better one…

The midday sun is warming his car, sweat already poised to seep out of his pores. He should either go in or go home. Indecision doesn’t suit him. He’s worked hard to overcome his self-doubts and self-loathing. He hasn’t been as successful as he would’ve liked, downright failed for awhile there, but he’s been sober now for two years and his made amends with his son as best he can and he’s learning to take time off and not always be The Sheriff™.

He promised Stiles he’d get out there more. Date, have fun, eat well, and not sit at home alone every night in all that emptiness and grief. Well, maybe not in so many words, but that was the spirit of the bargain he made, and he wants to do better. Be better. Show his son that he can change, that grief and loss don’t have to destroy your life or leave you an empty shell. People move on. Its time to be people again.

And sometimes people, especially male people, have anonymous sex in a gas station bathroom. Noah rubs his forehead wearily. He wouldn’t be fighting this so hard if some part of him didn’t really want this.

Physical intimacy. Sex. Orgasm. Its been so long since he’s had any of that, or even thought of it, that maybe it won’t work. Use it or lose it, they say. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had an erection, to say nothing of a release. But once he heard from Parrish about this place, he felt that old tingle. Even then it struck him as odd. He’s too old to be having those sorts of feelings; it’s illegal and he has sworn to uphold the law; he’s made concessions before, been lenient, looked the other way if it meant doing the right thing.

This wasn’t right, or at least not definitively so, and yet…And yet he was sat up in his beat-up old Chevy he hasn’t driven in maybe a decade, out of uniform for the first time in years, maybe also a decade, with a semi in his jeans just considering doing this. He wants it. Wants to prove he can do this, have this. That he deserves this, deserves happiness and satisfaction just as much as anybody else. Oh God.

Wiping his sweaty palms on his legs, Noah took the key out of the ignition and opened his car door. The slightly cool breeze passed over him, washing away his sweat. If only it could sweep away his nerves as easily. His hand shakes a little as he closes his door and locks up his car. He hasn’t done anything remotely like this since before Claudia, when he was just a dumb kid himself. Everything from life back then seems to belong to someone else. He barely recognizes himself anymore.

Maybe this is a midlife crisis? Maybe he’s being irrational? Maybe he’s being driven by depleting hormones and the fears of an aging body to commit an act he knows to be wrong merely to feel alive and vital? Maybe he just needs to get off. Maybe he should go home and just masturbate. He hasn’t done that in a long time, it could work just as well, right? Get the job done and all that? Without the issue of legality.

He could.

But he won’t. He can feel himself wilting just thinking about it. Apparently, Stiles’ keenness for breaking the law might be genetic.

Wow.

What a thought.

The bell over the door is chiming before he can dare thinking again. The gas station itself is neither spick and span, nor dirty, but exists in that netherworld that so many do. That gray, dingy look. Stereotypical. Somehow apt for the sort of debauchery going on in the back. Which is probably the reason why this particular gas station was chosen in the first place. The seedier, the better. But only to an extent. In this type of situation, you need to fulfill the fantasy, while also not being so gross as to scare away the more squeamish folks among us.

He busies himself looking blankly at the shelves, casually moving down the aisles towards the back. The guy at the cash register doesn’t so much as glance in his direction, too preoccupied with watching some sort of real crime show. He made Stiles a solemn vow when he was eight that he would never appear on such a program no matter how desperately he needed money or answers or to rant at the failings of the legal system. Stiles could be so serious sometimes. He was then. Completely, dead serious.

With that cute, kid-being-serious face. The memory makes him grin. He quickly catches himself and clears his throat. This is decidedly not the time for reminiscing. He takes a deep breath, staring at the men’s room sign nailed to the bathroom door. He’s really doing this. He’s here. And he’s really doing this. His softened cock throbs with the sudden rush of blood to his groin. He’s doing this. Before he can chicken out, he ducks into the men’s restroom.

For a place as grimy and uncared for, the restroom isn’t as disgusting as expected. No doubt it’s part of the arrangement. Good business requires at least a clean-ish space for the transaction. Not that any money is changing hands. At least as far as he knows. He should’ve looked into the bank histories of the employees and owners of this station. He should’ve done more research. Do your homework, do your homework, do your homework. How many times had he said that exact same thing to Stiles? No wonder the advice never seemed to stick.

The first stall was empty. The middle one closed. Noah opted for the third one. Far enough away from the door that no one would bother passing near, just a minute bit more privacy. His cheeks burned as his heart thundered in his ears. He stepped quickly over to his chosen stall and locked himself in.

Immediately, he noticed the hole in the stall divider. A gloryhole. A real-life gloryhole. Right here on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. And a mouth. A man’s mouth already waiting there.

Noah gulped. The moment of truth.

The man had full, black facial hair, a sharp chin, and a fuller bottom lip. A young man, but certainly not an errant teen. The stall divider obscured the other half of the face and the lack of space prevented him from finding a more revealing angle. Unless he got on his knees, but on this floor, at his age?

He couldn’t do this, could he? Was this really the type of behavior appropriate for a man his age? For a father? A sheriff?

No. Not at all.

This was all wrong.

The man languidly licked his lips from one corner, his tongue swooping over the upper lip and then down to the plusher lip beneath. Noah couldn’t breathe. His dick surged in his pants. The man flashed him a brilliant, cocky smile no doubt pleased with himself for eliciting such a blatant response. The punk. He was definitely going to arrest this guy. Later.

After.

His hands shook a little as he unzipped his pants. The agonizing decision to go commando had been wise. He whipped out his growing cock along with his balls with a single move. The punk moaned. A blush flooded down Noah’s cheeks to his neck and chest. Being wanted, even in merely a lascivious, lustful sense, was a wonderful feeling.

Quietly, he shuffled over to the divider, slipping his thick, half hard cock through the hole and resting his overwarm face against the cold, flimsy metal.

The first kitten lick made Noah sigh. His cock throbbed towards full in a flash, his heart racing already. The punk moaned again obviously appreciative of what was being offered. Noah swallowed and tried to control his breathing as the punk licked the underside and down the length of his shaft. The odd feeling of facial hair against his cock tickled but felt delightful too. Added a certain zing.

The punk grabbed his shaft in one hand and suckled at the tip coaxing him to full, throbbing erection. Noah closed his eyes, forehead pressed into the stall divider. He swayed a little, almost drunk, and hardly anything had happened yet. He was severely out of practice.

For a cocky, punk the guy certainly didn’t seem to be in a rush. He seemed almost tentative, hesitant taking only a little at a time. Noah knew he was bigger than most, above average at the very least, thicker too, but nothing extreme. Claudia used to complain about her overstretched jaw, but only jokingly; only to bolster his confidence. Surely someone known for his oral skills wouldn’t struggle with him. He must have taken bigger men. Surely.

Either way, the punk was certainly taking his time. And even so, Noah felt he was about to combust at any moment. Perhaps a gradual, passionate blowjob would be best. Help him last. God! He felt like an idiot teenager again, praying he lasts long enough to not be embarrassed. Oh, how the might have—

The punk gagged, sniffling in frustration. Noah panted in frustration right there with him. There was the sound of movement from the other side, probably the punk getting in a better position and then he felt those lips return with a vengeance.

Noah gasped as those lips worked down his shaft in a fury, taking more and more. Gone was the diffidence, the timidity. The suction was better, stronger. He was taking more and quickly too. Noah sighed, his hands raising to grip the top of the thin stall divider.

“Oh, yes,” he mumbled under his breath. This is what he needed. This was good. How could he have gone so long without this feeling? This euphoria?

The man worked his shaft perfectly, bobbing his head, slurping and sucking with a twist at the head that left Noah panting. And he kept going further. Down and down. There was no stopping him this time. Noah pressed his hips flat with the divider and the punk took him all the way, swallowing his entire length without trouble.

No one had ever done that. Not even—His knees started shaking, feeling loose like jelly. The punk was doing something at the back of his throat that felt amazing, a buzz and vibration that shook him to the core. And the punk stayed right there, wasn’t pulling back for breath. Noah groaned, his hips rutting against the metal searching for some give that wasn’t there. He held the divider so tight his knuckles turned white.

All of a sudden, the punk pulled away. Completely. Full stop. Cold turkey. Noah sagged against the stall, relieved and desperate all in one. His cock wouldn’t stop bouncing. He hadn’t leaked this much pre-come in decades, maybe ever. He needed more.

There was more shuffling and movement on the other side, which seemed ludicrous. The punk had already found the perfect position, at least from his end of things. But he couldn’t really say anything, right? He didn’t want to be rude. “Oh my God,” he groaned.

Two mouths. TWO MOUTHS. Two mouths glided on either side of his cock. Two tongues swiped over and under his shaft, like they were fighting, in a race to the finish. The bearded punk was on the left, the other, smoother faced on the right. He should stop this. He should run away. Anonymous, illicit sex with one man is bad enough, but with two? Two. Two mouths. He had never even imagined such a thing. And it was happening. Right now. To him.

He wanted to reach through the divider and grab those two heads and use them rough. He wanted to ram down this ridiculous divider and see their faces, watch them do this. He’d never seen anything like that, not being a porn man. Maybe he should start?

The deepthroater returned, the one on the right. Obviously not the same guy as the punk. Noah knocked his forehead against the stall groaning, too loudly, much too loudly, but he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t swallow the noises this man brought out of him.

God! He was so close.

“I—” he stuttered. “I’m gonna come.”

The other man pulled away. Lips and tongues swirled over and around his head, dueling. A hand grabbed the base of his shaft, milking him. He couldn’t hold back. How long had he been in this stall? Long enough.

He erupted.

His knees really did shake.

He almost collapsed onto the floor with the force of it.

His noises echoed in the small, tiled room. His and the other’s.

More and more poured out of him. So much his head started swimming, he was dizzy with it. He held onto that divider for dear life and some shred of dignity.

The two mouths didn’t let up. They kept switching back and forth tasting him, sharing him, kissing with him in between. Another obscenity to add to his watch list. He grunted. They switched to licking his tip and his shaft. Unwilling to be done. Noah didn’t want to be done either. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Eventually, he did pull out. Pull out and hastily zip up. “Thanks,” he muttered gruffly his hand already on the stall lock. The two men didn’t reply and he was grateful for that. The awkwardness of it all hit him all at once like a ton of bricks dropped on his chest.

Rushing to the sink, Noah hurriedly turned on the cold water and began washing his hands, dabbing his red cheeks too while he could. The middle stall rattled as the lock was undone. Noah stared hard at his hands, hearing the stall door creak open behind him.

Two someone’s strolled out.   

“Hello, Sheriff,” a rough voice drawled, smug and obnoxious. Noah stiffened, his eyes shooting up to the cracked mirror in front of him. Peter Hale. Peter fucking Hale. And Derek lurking, hiding behind him.

Globs of his come clung to Peter’s forehead, crossing the bridge of his nose, sliding down towards his nostril. Drops glistened from Derek’s beard and dangled from his chin. That damn familiar chin and beard. Peter smirked. “Nice to run into you,” he quipped, all charm and sarcasm.

Noah glared, furious with himself and the self-satisfied smirk on Peter’s glazed face. Even covered in another man’s come, he looked assured, confident. No doubt the deepthroater. He’d never receive another blowjob again. Never. And he’d have to shower once he got home. For an hour. Maybe longer. Maybe forever.

From out of nowhere, Peter produced a business card and held it up for Noah to see in the mirror. “Call us anytime,” he explained. “We’d love to service you again. Whenever.”

Noah clenched the sides of the sink basin and frowned. Peter smiled and slipped the card into Noah’s back pocket, with a playful squeeze. Noah startled and whirled around, mouth flying open, ready to unleash. Peter interrupted him, “Until then, Sheriff.”

And he left. Just like that. Without washing his hands or cleaning off his face. Noah stared after him confused and astounded. He whipped his head back to the other Hale. “Derek, wha—”

“You should call us,” Derek said softly serious. “Anytime.”

Then he followed his after uncle. Again, unconcerned with the evidence. Noah leaned against the sink for a good while, mystified.

In time, the sound of the still running water pulled him back to reality and he shut it off, drying his hands with some paper towels. Another man entered, nodding to him as he went to the stalls. Noah nodded back dumbly, cheeks flaring, and ducked out.

As he walked out, not bothering with the pretense of being a customer, too consumed in shame and anger and sexual relief, he yanked the business card out of his back pocket determined to rip it to shreds.

 

Hale & Hale

Lifestyle Consultants

(xxx-xxx-xxxx)

He almost laughed.

But he didn’t.

He almost ripped the damn thing up.

But he didn’t.

He got into his old Chevy and headed home. Today was best forgotten. The next shift he’d set up a sting. Bust those Hales. Arrest them. Toss them in a cell. Especially Peter. Maybe shoot him this time just for good measure. Definitely. With wolfsbane bullets. And mountain ash around the cell. And maybe one last blowjob before he pulls the trigger.

Definitely, one last blowjob.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to take this idea and flesh it out/write it better let me know.


End file.
